You waltz along,
123 123 123,
sticking your tongue out at me.
Do you want me to join you?
Are you being a tease?
My issue with this is no small thing.
You can waltz along, sure,
that’s no skin off my teeth.
Just give me the essence
of the message you’re sending
so I don’t spend the rest
of my spring and summer days
waiting for something
that may or may not be true.
Fall out of that lovely turnip hole soil
and cough up that dirt, we’re not poor.
No, we’re not leaving this place just yet.
I have to feel something warmer than that.
Warmer than what? A ground pepper flake
on the tip of your tongue or a flypaper
waxing session, somewhere in between.
You can’t do it yourself, it’s not a surprise.
No, we have to wait. Didn’t you bring a book?
You really should read more. Yeah, really.
I don’t mean to come off as arrogant! Come on,
how long have we known each other? I give you tips
that I hope will help you to be the best you.
What’s so bad about that?
Aside from looking like a nerd…
A sexy nerd?
That’s better, let’s go with that.
What good is a piece of writing if it doesn’t take you away from your life? Even if you’re reading for research, shouldn’t the text grab you and pull you into the writer’s mindframe?
Personality is often a device used by socialites of digital media, the fabricated aesthetic discovered over the evolution of their thoughts and hopes (when applied to the friendship arena (the battleground where each speaks over the another and fights for maximum exposure) and tested for kitsch factor) that somehow dictates their behavior and forces patterns of mediocrity.
Is that personality or programmed popularity? It’s obviously not organic.
Organic is an artichoke struggling to gather enough nutrients from the sandy soil without so much as a drop of rain for five straight days.
For Fern:
This is the biggest unicycle in the world, seventeen-feet long and manufactured only for display purposes. If your ceilings aren’t high enough to accommodate such a generous gift, I’d be willing to take it off your hands. Don’t try to ride it, I broke three ribs that way.
Love,
Grandpa
Lunging farther than the snow should allow requires skill to the extent of a jaguar mixed with a polar bear during the warmest months in the Arctic Circle, but it’s not really that difficult if you have faith in yourself.
Or is it?
He just hangs over that plate,
about to put the fork in the pantry
when a loathsome crouton grins and bares its fangs.
You wouldn’t think it was much of a man-eater,
blood had never touched its lips. Poor Chip. Poor poor Chip.
If only he hadn’t forgotten where the forks go.
P: Why are you strutting around like that?
F: I just found an egg.
P: What kind?
F: Chicken.
P: Where?
F: The fridge.
P: What’s so special about that?
F: Nothing.
P: Then why are you strutting around like that?
F: I just found an egg.
P: We’ve gone over this. What are you going to do with the egg?
F: Fry it on my forehead.
P: Let me get you a spatula.
F: Thanks buddy.
P: You’re going to have to stop strutting now.
WHARVED 